


The Metamorphosis of Claire Claymore

by Broken_souls



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Cannibalism Puns, F/M, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Metamorphosis, Murder-Suicide, Not Romance, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25766953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_souls/pseuds/Broken_souls
Summary: Claire Claymore was nothing, that gave her the potential to become anything.
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character(s), Hannibal Lecter/Reader, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	The Metamorphosis of Claire Claymore

**Author's Note:**

> I was sleep deprived when I wrote this.
> 
> Hannibal might be a little bit out of character but I tried my best. I hope you like it!

Marion Claymore was a small woman. Not nice, not rude -she was simply small. _Insignificant_. Her daughter was exactly like her... Claire Claymore's case was not as unusual as he would have preferred it to be: a nineteen years old university student who had tried to kill herself. _Definitely not unusual_. He accepted her as his patient not because of her delicate mental health but because of her mother, _the small woman_. So unimportant it was unusual -and Hannibal Lecter liked unusual. Marion was early for their appointment. A nervous women, a late mother, an unwanted daughter, a replaced wife... She had dyed her hair red in a useless attempt to catch people's attention, she spoke too much and she talked about her daughter as if she knew better than her. "Claire was very affected when me and my ex-husband divorced, he was very cruel to her during that time and he forced her to study law -she wanted to be an artist. It's because of him Claire is depressed and doesn't even want to get out of bed."

"I would prefer to refer to those subjects personally with Claire, if you don't mind. When would it be possible to speak to her?" His voice was soft, like velvet, but there was something dangerous about it. Marion had talked for an hour and a half about all the possible traumatic events that could have lead her daughter to try to commit suicide, but now she was quiet -not just small. Inexistent. "She's waiting outside."

Claire Claymore was listening to music with her eyes closed in the waiting room. She was relaxed- that's how he knew she was used to her mother talking about her to her psychologist before she even got the chance to. She was pale - _lack of vitamin D_ \- and had bags under her eyes - _very poor sleeping habbits_. Marion said her name, she didn't hear her. Marion said her name again, this time angrier -desperate for attention. "Claire, answer when I'm talking to you."

"Sorry, mom. The music was too loud- I didn't hear you." She said -at least she was polite. She was wearing a gray blouse and black trousers - _not too formal, not too informal_. She wasn't wearing any make-up, just like her mother. Claire turned her phone off knowing it was her turn to talk to the psychiatrist and observed the man. It was the third doctor she had seen since _'the incident'_ -as her mother liked to call it. He smiled at her, not sincerely. "Hello, Claire. I'm doctor Lecter."

"Nice to meet you." Her voice was almost insignificant -like her mother's. Claire didn't look at his eyes, afraid of eye contact, afraid of attention. She was glancing at her mother - _dependant_ , in need of someone to speak for her. Marion smiled to her daughter, they were both very small. "Well I'll leave you to it."

Claire gave her mother a hug before she left - _desperate for human contact_ \- and entered the doctor's office. She had a small bag with her -more useful than a purse, _she was practical._ The air around her was flavored: Yves Saint Laurent perfume, oil paint and something else, something fresh - _raspberry_ , she'd been eating raspberries before their appointment. "How are you feeling today, Claire?"

"Uh, tired." short answers -prefers to let her mother explain her issues even if her explanation is wrong. She was nice, not too nice, just the kind of nice people do when they feel hopeless. Hannibal analysed her -small, insignificant, unimportant, pathetic, worthless... She was even less than her mother, Claire Claymore was _nothing_. Nothing at all.

Although Hannibal would try to get something out of that nothingness. He had meticulously studied human nature and after so many years of experience he knew exactly how to press the right buttons to get an honest reaction out of someone. He would force her to show herself, to speak her mind and become _something_.

"Tell me, why did you try to kill yourself?" He knew the expected answer- Claire was nothing and that was a painful existence. She didn't want to kill herself - _she would say_ \- she just wanted the pain of being worthless to disappear. That was the expected answer. Hannibal was delighted to receive the _unexpected_ answer. She had been looking down at his feet or at her own all the time -or at their surroundings. Hannibal waited for her reaction.

 _Nothing_ , she said nothing - _did_ nothing. She didn't even flinch at the horrible memory of her suicide attempt. She just looked at him, at his _eyes_ -the unexpected answer. And Hannibal realised why she had been avoiding eye contact -those were not the eyes of a depressed teen. She was not sad, she was not depressed, she was not suicidal. In her tired brown eyes there was only _anger_.

Hannibal smirked satisfied. Claire Claymore was a liar.  
  


* * *

Claire crumbled on their third appointment, when he mentioned her father and asked her to stand up to him. She said she couldn't, she said she was afraid of disappointing him -afraid of his reaction. Then she started to cry. She was so small -but in her eyes the only thing that could be seen was that very same anger that had caught his attention the first time he met her.

She was wearing a dress and a scent of Yves Saint Laurent and, _again_ -raspberries. He could perfectly smell it when he got closer to hand her a tissue. She looked pathetic, even if she was not. He learnt that day she had a brother, older than her -' _the smart one'_ she said, implying she was dumb. "Why is he the smart one"

"Because everyone says he is, they did some test on him when he was a child, they said he's like- _super_ intelligent. Lucas is ahead of all the boys of his age, finishing his career at twenty." There was a flick on her voice, it was deeper, _angrier_. Hannibal deduced it had been her parents who had formally labeled Lucas as _'the smart one'_ meaning it as a praise without realising they were insulting Claire with that. If she was not the smart one- then she was the stupid, the useless, the worthless. Hannibal then noticed the way Claire projected herself to the world was following her parents _design_ -what they expected her to be, what they thought she was.

"Tell me more about your brother." He asked and she did as told -dried tears on her cheeks. The scars of her suicide attempt could be seen because of the short sleeves of her dress - _she was not ashamed of them_. Claire talked about her brother like anyone would talk about their neighbour's ugly dog who always shits in their yard. She did not hate him, though. It was something else. When she felt comfortable enough she told him about Lucas's annoying behaviour. "He believes he's above everyone. No matter how much you know or even if you're an expert on your field he thinks he know more than you -and he's so prepotent and condescending, he's always so... _Rude_."

Hannibal smile at her choice of words.

Claire kept complaining with the same tone her mother had used to speak about her ex-husband. He had not asked her properly about her father yet, nor about the soft smell of oil paint that came with her. Marion had mentioned her daughter wanted to be an artist, he wondered what would Claire think of his work. _Artist to artist._

* * *

The food was delicious, _as always._ Oh, cyclists always had good meat to cook with. It was a Tuesday -Claire's appointments were on Wednesdays- and Hannibal had just finished the delicatessen, _magret of cyclist with cranberries_. The wine he had chosen to drink with the dish was red -not too strong, imported form the south of France. He was drinking what was left of it while reading his notes about Claire.

 _Small, nothing, relaxed, not too formal, polite out of fear, insignificant, afraid of eye contact, dependant, desperate for human contact, practical, worthless, not ashamed, depressed, not the smart one, useless_.

Then he grabbed the quill and marked the only statements he knew were honest. In the end, of those sixteen characteristics only three remained.

_Relaxed, practical, not ashamed._

Hannibal could have written about her brother too, he did not because he ignored exactly how she felt about him. Not affection, nor hate -she didn't like him, she didn't _care_ about him. His glass was empty now. Art had always seemed to be a way to express oneself whenever words lied- _and Claire was a pretty liar_. He had drawn her once, after their first meeting -small, pathetic, worthless. Hidden behind another small figure -her mother- and always staring at her shoes. Hannibal drew her again, this time not her design - _his_. He focused on her features: long nose, brown eyes, wavy hair, thin figure. The drawing of Claire Claymore portrayed her not as who she pretended to be but as something closer to who she truly was. He drew the line of her neck, the curve of her tights...Putting the pencil down he admired his version of Claire - _his design_.

He drew her how she would look like naked. her chin was up and her shoulders were relaxed. She stood there -proud, intelligent, unforgettable, important. In her eyes there was the fire -the wrath- that consumed her. She looked powerful, she looked _beautiful_.

* * *

Claire didn't come on Wednesday, nor called to cancel their appointment - _unsually rude_. Her mother called the morning after saying her daughter was hospitalised, she had tried to commit suicide - _again_ \- and Marion had decided to send her to a mental health hospital -not an asylum, they were no longer called asylums. Marion was crying on the phone. "I don't understand- she seemed better, why would she do that if she was feeling better."

 _Why indeed_. But Claire was not depressed -she only pretended to be- therefore the question Hannibal had in mind was why would someone pretend to commit suicide constantly if they were not looking for attention. _Why?_ He didn't re-organize his schedule -Wednesday was Claire's appointment and it will remain that way even if she was not there.

A former colleague of his, doctor Isaac Rogers, had been Claire's psychiatrist before the _first 'Incident_ '. He had arrived to the conclusion Claire was not depressed -just as Hannibal had- so when Claire tried to commit suicide he was surprised and thought she did it to get her parents attention. Marion called him useless and found another therapist to sent her daughter to. Hannibal called him on a Monday, five days after her suicide attempt. He greeted him politely - _not sincerely_ \- and focused the conversation on her, Claire Claymore. The fake suicidal. "Ahh- yes, yes. I remember Claire, strange girl. I did the usual tests looking for any kind or pathology or disorder and the only one she seemed to have was the dependence disorder -she needs her parents in an unhealthy way for a nineteen years old. There was something unexpected in her IQ... Forget it, nothing important -just... _unusual_."

"What was it?" He asked maybe a little too eager to know what was hidden behind Claire. He would go to see her at the asylum - _not an asylum_ \- one of those days. Doctor Rogers hesitated, it was unimportant information -nothing useful, but it had caught his attention that day. "She's below average, not very smart -but when she answered the questions it was almost as if she was doing it wrong on purpose. _Why?_ "

Again, another why -only this time Hannibal knew the answer. What had she said? _-"my brother is the smart one"-_ meaning she was the stupid one. Her brother thought she was stupid, her mother thought she was stupid, her father -although Hannibal did not know the man- thought she was stupid. And Claire was an artist, dedicated completely to her art -in this case, _herself_. A portrait of 'Claire Claymore', _her design._

* * *

The institution - _asylum_ \- to which Claire had been sent to was mostly focused on addictions, people with suicidal tendencies and personality disorders. Claire was the youngest there, only nineteen -the others called her _'the child_ ' and she acted as such. Hannibal visited her twice in there, during the first meeting he ran into her father who had come from Napoli to take care of Claire. He was a polite man, not too nice, not too informal.

Claire was a grotesque caricature of her family, Hannibal noticed then, when he met the three of them - _father, mother, brother_. Lucas - _the smart one_ \- was more rude than he had expected him to be. Every word that left his lips seemed to say: look at me, I know more than anyone, my opinion is important, I know more than you, I am smarter than you. He called Claire stupid twice during their conversation, not literally -he said "Claire is not fit for an intelligent conversation" and "how useless can someone be if they fail so many times at committing suicide". _How rude_ , he could be a perfect pâté though.

Marion had a book on her hands, an art book. Claire was not allowed to have pencils or any other sharp objects in there -she could not draw, so her mother bought an art book for her. The small woman was almost invisible -her ex-husband and son drew too much attention to them leaving her forgotten. She was small, _pathetic_. "Is everything alright Miss Claymore?"

"Yes, it's just- Claire has been acting different lately, sometimes I don't recognize her... She's so- it's like since she got hospitalised she's been somebody else..." _Again_ , the _unexpected answer_. When Hannibal was allowed to see Claire he entered the room where visitors were allowed and saw her there talking to other patients -she looked _different_. More friendly, less formal. She drew attention to her and spoke freely. He stood there, staring at her as the oddity she was -this was another portrait of Claire Claymore, a different one. _Why? Why did she change?_

"Ah, doctor Lecter, it's good to see you." Definitely too nice. Her accent was sightly off, more southern despite the fact she had been born and raised in the north. Hannibal wondered again, why? Why did she change? Why did she _morph_ into something else? There was a woman besides her -around her thirties- who sat in the same position Claire was sitting, she had the same smile and the exact same accent. Sightly off. "I'll see you later, Claire."

Hannibal looked at the display in front of him - _the pantomim_ e. Claire Claymore was not a portrait of her family, she was a _shape-shifter_. She was _nothing_ , nothing at all, therefore she had the potential to become _anything_. Her personality and her actions changed depending on who was the reference of her design; that explained why Marion was worried. Her daughter was no longer her daughter, she was something else.

Their conversation was fluid, she still had some remaining quirks from her mother and father but she had adapted most of her behaviour to match her new friend's. Hannibal was fascinated -a shape-shifter, a constant _metamorphosis_. He smiled briefly wondering what would happen if Claire changed her personality to match his, would she then start slaughtering strangers and cooking their meat? Would she be able to mimic perfectly the _modus operandi_ of the Chesapeake Ripper? Maybe she would. There was only one way to find out.

* * *

Claire's father, Richard, had returned to Napoli when Hannibal visited her again, his brother hardly ever visited -she was unimportant in his point of view- but her mother was always there, hesitant and worried about her daughter's unusual behaviour. Like a spider, Hannibal started making his web. "Your daughter has a dependency disorder- she depends too much on you and Richard to the point everything she does or says depends on you two. Therefore it is good for her to be away from you for a while, it gives her a chance to make her own _design_ of herself."

"I never thought- now that you say it she may be too dependant. She always relies on me or her father to make choices and I... I don't think I've ever heard her speak her mind." She accepted his advice without realising Hannibal only wanted them to leave Claire alone to become himself the reference she copied. The results would surely be fascinating.

He had brought her a gift, _a drawing_. An sketch of her face looking at different angles at the same time making her seem like she had eight heads - _the shape-shifter_. If there was something -anything- truly real of Claire Claymore he would find it in her art, _you cannot lie in art_. She smiled at Hannibal when she saw him and he did the same, although not completely honestly. "I've brought something for you."

He set the sketch on the table between them and turned it around so Claire could look at it correctly. In her eyes there was just _anger_ , she was no longer nice or formal- she was raw. _Painfully_ raw. Claire stared at the drawing as if she was observing her brain being dissected, and in an unusual way, she was. She smiled slightly but honestly. "Can I keep it?"

"Of course you can. Your mother mentioned you are interested in art, I thought this might delight you. Perhaps one day you could show me some of your artwork." He said analysing her. Her attention was still focused on the drawing and her many faces represented on such. Claire didn't fully understand it but she knew it was the most detailed portrait someone had ever done of her. _Claire Claymore, the shape-shifter._ "Yes, of course. I didn't know you liked art, doctor Lecter. I'd love to see more of your drawing too."

"Do not worry, Claire, immediately after you leave this place I will show you all the drawing you wish to see." Even the ones about murder, if that was what she wanted. Claire smiled again and when she spoke he noticed her accent shift sightly _again_ , almost imperceptible. "Thank you."

She was mimicking his.

* * *

When Hannibal promised to show her his art he did not expect Claire to leave the mental health institution two days after their conversation -a Wednesday it was. She was out and the first thing she did was call him, her mother had given her Hannibal's phone number. He was having Will for lunch -as a guest, of course- when the phone rang. Marion Claymore's name could be read on the screen. "Ah, Miss Claymore. Has something happened?"

"Uh, no. I'm Claire- I just got out and I thought- you promised to share your artwork with me." Her voice was not nice, not rude either; just loud, demand, and he could hear that accent again - _his_ accent. Will was on the living room glancing at the many books he had, and wondering who had called to make Hannibal Lecter forget about the cooking. "They let you leave?"

"Yeah, I told them I was feeling good and had no intention of killing myself, and they asked me tons of questions and then they said I could leave." Her voice was strong and filled with confidence and she unashamedly referred to her suicide attempt as if she was talking about the rain -a minor inconvenience. Hannibal was a man of his word but this was unexpected, he liked unexpected -Will didn't. And he was his guest after all. "Have you eaten lunch yet?"

"Nope, why do you ask?" her slang was still the woman's she had met in the institution, but her accent had changed and everything else would eventually change. Hannibal looked at the meat in front of him -a smoker who rudely made the mistake of blowing the smoke on his direction- and then glanced at Will. It would be interesting to see how those two individuals would react to each other. "I am preparing lunch, you can come and eat -then I will show you my drawings."

"Very well, where do you live?" she didn't hesitate, she wanted to see the drawing at any cost so his invitation to lunch was accepted immediately. He gave her his address and warned her he already had a guest. Now he had to explain it to Will. "One of my patients will be joining us for dinner. She had been in a mental health institution after a suicide attempt, I hope you don't mind her presence here."

"It's alright." The dish was almost ready when Claire arrived. Will opened the door and came face to face with the girl, he instantly noticed there was something _off_ about her -but he couldn't point out what it was. Her hair was up and her clothes were formal - _too_ _formal for a nineteen years old_. They did match Hannibal's outfit though. She was carrying a big sketchbook full of drawings. Claire smiled _not sincerely_ and Will felt as if he already knew her, or at least, he knew what to expect of her. "Hello, you must be Claire."

"Yes, then you must be Mr. Graham. It's a pleasure to meet you" Her accent was familiar, _too_ familiar. Hannibal finished preparing _tournedo Rossini_ and set it on the table as both his guest waited for him to start a proper conversation. At some point Claire made a comment about the food -delicious but with a strange taste, _unusual_. When the dinner ended Claire insisted on seeing his drawings again, this time more politely. Hannibal smiled and explained the situation to Will. "Claire is very passionate about art, she has come only to see my sketches. I insisted she stayed for dinner."

Hannibal was mesmerized with Claire's skill to morph into someone else so quickly, she already had his quirks and her presence was almost as imposing as his. Slowly, her eyes were gradually turning into the ones of a predator. Will simpatyzise with her. "Oh, so, you like art. What is your favourite painting?"

" _Saturn devouring his son_ by Francisco de Goya." she said and Hannibal observed her with deep and honest fascination -he had almost stopped breathing. The mentioned painting was cruel and violent, not like other representations of the myth which made the scene beautiful and divine. 'Saturn devouring his son' was painful to look at -and yet it was Claire's favourite. He wasn't sure if her answer had been honest or if she had chosen it because she was transforming into him. He didn't really care. Although he did not lose the opportunity to point out the nature of the painted scene. "Very curious choice, a painting about _cannibalism_..."

"It is not cannibalism. Saturn is a titan while his son is merely a god _-it is not cannibalism if they are not equals_." Claire Claymore was a portrait of Hannibal Lecter: raw, heartless and sadistic. Will noticed the similarities between her words and Hannibal's usual comments about cannibalism. Will didn't know, maybe Claire did -her words seemed to show so. Unconsciously, she could have known Hannibal was a cannibal but she did not notice soon enough to stop mimicking him.

The day she did notice it was already too late, she was already lost.

* * *

Claire couldn't remember the last time she had a proper conversation with her mother. Her father now only called once a week instead of everyday and he no longer offered her the chance to travel with him as he usually did. They were leaving her alone, _isolating her_. Just what Hannibal wanted.

Very few things still remained of the girl she had been the first time she had met doctor Lecter - _Hannibal, she called him Hannibal now_ \- and the person she had become was cynical and manipulative. She had started making inappropriate jokes -about murder and cannibalism. She didn't even understand why she had started to do so. She had stopped going to therapy, and Hannibal and her were no longer doctor-patient, they were _friends_. Close friends who made puns about cannibalism.

Everything was alright. Claire's marks at university were great although she had taken a liking in medicine, she had friends and went out more often and there were no more ' _incidents'_. Her parents had accepted to maintain a distance from her but even if they were not very involved in her life they were really proud of her and the person she had become. Now her new image matched her parents expectations because said expectations had changed through time. When they talked about her they would say _"the intelligent one"_ -that was something Lucas could not stand.

He believed himself to be above everyone else, therefore to him Claire was still stupid -less than him. He hated to see people talk about her as if she was better than him when she was not. _He_ was the smart one, he was the intelligent and she was the pathetic stupid fool -nothing would change his perception. His behaviour towards Claire was now more hostile than ever, he was more - _how would Hannibal describe it?-_ rude. And Claire despited the _rude_ , she didn't know why. _She just did_.

She had a dream one night, a dream in which she committed manslaughter, a dream in which she killed her brother. She was the haunter and he was the pray so he followed him through the woods and cut his neck. He bleed out and she ate his flesh - _like Saturn_. She ate until she was satisfied and then she walked towards a river to wash away the blood, when she looked at her reflection in the water it was not herself who she saw - _it was Hannibal Lecter._

She had that dream three times until she actually did it. Her parents were not at home and her brother was more rude than usual, he insulted her and shouted and believed himself to be above her when he was just a _pig_ -a pig she would eat for dinner. She grabbed the kitchen knife and stabbed him multiple times until he died -she was covered in his blood: _red and beautiful_. Claire kneeled down to taste his meat, she cut it and grabbed it between her fingers and when she was ready to eat it she saw her reflection in the mirror. _It was not Hannibal- it was just her,_ and she had just murdered her brother.

Claire suddenly disassociated, feeling as if she was looking at the scene from outside her body - _she looked like an abomination_. She couldn't understand how she had become a monster. _She had been nothing, she had been nothing, and abruptly she was something._ She left the meat aside and came closer to her reflection and asked herself -who was her? What was her? What made her _her_? Nothing, she had been nothing for so long she had forgotten how to be herself - _a shape-shifter who had forgotten her original shape_. At least now she knew what she was not -she was not her father nor her mother, she was not the woman she had met in the mental health institution, and, of course, _she was not Hannibal Lecter._

When the police arrived they only found Lucas's dead body, no sign of her. Claire Claymore was gone.

* * *

Hannibal was drawing her when he heard the news -Marion called him, she was crying. Lucas was dead and Claire was gone, the police wasn't sure it had been her who had killed him but they were ready for all the possibilities. Claire was gone. _Gone_.

He set the pencil down and looked at his drawing - _she appeared so beautifully lethal_. Hannibal would miss her, he already missed her. Claire was unique, she was a mirror he could look into, _an equal_ -like Will but different. She was _his_ Claire and now she was gone. _Lost_.

A letter arrived on Wednesday. No address, it had been left in front of his door -his name written on the envelope with a firm calligraphy. Inside there was only one thing, the drawing he had given to Claire so long ago -the one with many faces. Only four words were written on the paper, just across the eyes of the portrait. In the shape-shifter's eyes it could be read: _I AM NOT YOU_ , written in black ink.

Hannibal stared at those words and smiled fascinated. "It seem I will finally get the chance to meet the real you, _Claire Claymore_."  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I hope you've liked it. This is supposed to have only one chapter but I might write more if I feel like it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, leave kudos if you liked it.


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